Good
by Mummyluvr
Summary: Dean always tried to be good enough, and now Sam's giving him the chance. But John might just mess everything up!
1. Good Enough

7:30 a.m. on a sunny Saturday morning, adn out of nowhere... the evil plot bunnies attack! This idea hit me so hard it would have knocked me on my butt had I not been laying in bed! Needless to say, it's been bugging me all day and I just had to write it.

**Summary:** Dean's tried all his life to be good enough, and Sam's finally giving him the chance. One-shot with some flashbacks and a random ending, but it's TOTALLY worth your time :)

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**Good**

It had only been for a minute. He'd had to do his homework, and Sammy wouldn't stop begging, and he figured that he could kill two birds with one stone. So, he took Sammy to the park, and while his little brother was running around in the woodchips, Dean sat down on a bench and started his homework.

He had a test coming up, a big one judging by the teacher's tone of voice. It would be one of his first tests of the sixth grade, and he didn't want to look like an idiot in front of his new teacher. Or his dad.

Dad had already gotten on his case one time too many the year before for flunking classes, and Dean wasn't in the mood for another 'you need to study more' lecture. So he'd taken Sammy to the park and cracked open his math book.

The boy sighed, glancing up momentarily to check on his little brother. Sammy was sliding down the curvy slide, a big smile plastered on his face. Dean turned back to his homework.

It was like another language, letters and numbers all mixed together, and his mind couldn't seem to make sense of any of it. He'd missed too much. All of the different towns had run their classes on different schedules, and he was either freakishly ahead or terribly behind in every subject. It just didn't seem fair.

But Dean was going to make it work. He was going to study, and he was going to pass. He was going to make his dad proud.

And that's when he heard it.

"What were you thinking?" John hissed, staring his oldest son down as they stood in the hospital waiting room.

"I…I just thought-"

"You didn't think, Dean, you never do. Why weren't you watching him?"

"He wanted to go to the park," Dean explained hurriedly, "but I had to study, so I thought… I took my backpack and while he was-"

"_Why weren't you watching him_?"

Dean shrugged. "I wanna pass math, sir."

"I told you before I left that you were to watch him, son. You disobeyed a direct order. Do you remember what happened the last time you did that?"

Dean nodded sadly. "Yes, sir."

"What was it?"

The little boy gulped. "Sammy… almost…"

"Out with it."

"He could have died, sir. He could have died because of me."

John nodded. "And now he's got a sprained ankle and a broken wrist because some snot-nosed little brat thought he'd be a bully. Your brother is hurt because you weren't there to protect him."

"Yes, sir."

"Now tell me, son, what's more important to you, your brother, or your grades?"

"My brother, sir."

"All right, then."

**5 Years Later**

He'd always wanted something on the refrigerator. He knew it was kind of cheesy, but he'd never had a paper good enough. He could remember stupid drawings made by a clumsy four-year-old hanging up all over the house in Lawrence. It had been kind of nice.

That had been the last time anything of his had been hanging anywhere. Dad didn't ask to see his school papers, and Dean was actually kind of glad about that. Since Sammy had broken his wrist at that playground, the eldest brother had kind of shrugged off academics. He had to, in order to keep Sammy safe.

But he'd gotten a B on this test, an actual _B_. It was the best he'd done in a while, and in History, of all things.

He figured he'd just hang it up on the fridge, all casual-like, and when his dad noticed… well, he'd get a freakin' hero's parade for his amount of Civil War knowledge. His dad was gonna be so proud.

That was when he saw it.

"Dad, guess what?" Sam shouted, rushing up to greet his father as the older man walked through the door, "I got an A+ on my last math test! I hung it up on the fridge. Come see!"

John smiled encouragingly and followed his youngest boy into the kitchen, where one sheet of paper stood out clearly against the crappy brown on the motel fridge. "That's awesome, Sammy," he smiled, "that's great. Did you tell Dean?"

Sam nodded. "He didn't seem too happy about it, though. Do you think he's mad at me for something?"

His father shook his head. "No, kiddo." He turned to walk out of the room and find his other son. "Good job on the test."

Dean ducked back around the corner and into the bedroom he shared with his little brother before John had a chance to find him spying. He sighed as he stretched out on his bed. He knew what he had to do.

He was never gonna be good enough for the fridge, never gonna be smart enough in school.

But he was a damned good hunter, and he was going to use that to his advantage. He was going to make his father proud.

"You're sure about this, son?" John asked, staring into his oldest son's bright hazel eyes.

Dean nodded, searching his father's gaze for signs of compassion, acceptance, pride… really, anything other than that blank disappointment that now clouded them. "I'm sure, dad. I wanna drop out of school. I wanna hunt full-time. With you. We can pick up the pace on my training, and I can get field experience, and everything. It'll be cool."

John shook his head. "I'm not sure-"

"Come on, dad. There's a war coming. You keep telling me that, and the fact is that every war needs soldiers. I'm one of those soldiers, dad, I just need the training. I want to do this."

John nodded, defeated. His son was stubborn, and if he wanted to follow in his father's footsteps and drop out of high school, then he would do it. Nothing anyone said or did could stop him.

**12 Years Later**

Sammy stared at the little boy sitting at the table and sighed. It was all his fault. He hadn't had his brother's back, hadn't been able to stop the witch before she could hit Dean with one last spell. And it had been a doozey.

The five-year-old hummed as the crayon moved across the paper and Sam turned back to the stack of bills he had yet to pay. The apartment he'd rented was sucking up more money than he'd first thought, and he wasn't getting paid enough to support both of them.

He'd thought about hunting, about heading back out on the road. It was completely possible, seeing as how the witch's spell had been more physical than mental. Dean was still in there somewhere, he'd just given up fighting for a while. Sam couldn't blame him.

He sighed again and rested his head in his hands. It seemed hopeless sometimes. He was just one man. He couldn't handle it by himself. Sometimes he wished he could just call up his dad and dump all of this burden on someone more experienced, but Dean had made him promise.

Dean, before letting go of whatever weak strings were holding his adult mind in place, had made Sammy promise not to get rid of him. He'd stressed the fact that he didn't wasn't to be left in their father's care. He much preferred it when Sam played daddy.

That was great for Dean, of course. He was finally getting a real childhood, without all the moves and hunts. Sam was getting a little stressed, though.

He jumped as he felt a little body squirming up onto his lap. "Hey, man," he said softly, "what's up?"

Dean looked up at him with wide hazel eyes, concern fighting for control under the innocence of a little boy's features. "You ok, Sammy?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Just, uh, looking at some papers."

Dean glanced at the pile that sat on the table and wrinkled his little nose. "Hate math," he muttered.

"Yeah, I know," Sam grinned, watching as his brother's suddenly sharp, appraising eyes scanned the bills in front of them. _He's still in there, under the surface. He's not gonna let you handle this alone. _"You all right?"

Dean jumped a little, like he'd been caught doing something bad, and looked up at Sam with that little kid innocence in his eyes again. "I drew you a picture," he announced, holding it up for the now-older brother to see.

Sammy looked over the paper, a shaky crayon drawing of two stick figures standing beside what was probably supposed to be a black car. "That's awesome," he said.

The boy bit his lip, looking away from the man that had generously agreed to raise him again when they'd found out that some spells can't be reversed. He crinkled the edges of the paper in his hands, obviously nervous about something. "Um…"

"You know what I think?" Sam asked, grinning as he slid the boy off his lap and onto the floor.

"What?"

"I think," he replied, taking the paper and heading across the room to their small refrigerator, "that something this cool should be put on display for everyone, huh?" Dean smiled as his brother grabbed a couple of magnets and stuck the drawing up on the fridge. "There. Perfect. What do you think?"

The boy looked at it for a while, cocking his head to one side to inspect his handiwork. He nodded. "It's good?"

Sammy nodded. "Yeah, kiddo. It's good."

Another large smile stood out on the boy's face as he turned and went back into the living room, and Sam could have sworn he felt something travel the length of the room, something invisible passing from his brother to himself. Accomplishment, a feeling of finally being good enough for someone after waiting so long for any form of acceptance. It almost made his heart hurt.

"Dad, what did you do to him?" Sam whispered, heading back to the bills and shaking his head, "what on earth did you do?"

Dean poked his head back into the room. "Sammy?" he asked.

Sam turned, flashing a quick smile. "Yeah?"

"I think maybe you should call Missouri."

The older man's brow furrowed in confusion. Why on earth would he call their old friend, and why did Dean sound different somehow? "Why's that?"

The little boy smiled, eyes shining with understanding that only a lifetime of trouble could bring, and Sammy knew that his brother was back, at least for a while. "I think she can help with the bills, dude."

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THE END

So, any reviews? Come on, I can take it :)


	2. The Cabin

Back by popular demand...

That's right, the little plot bunny came back and wouldn't leave me alone until I finished the story right. So far, it's looking like it's gonna be a three-shot, but that might change. Enjoy!

Same format as ch. 1: flashbacks followed by present day. Please review!

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_Ch. 2_

_The Cabin_

Dean liked the cabin. He'd always liked the cabin, and figured that he always would, even though going to the cabin only meant one thing. Daddy was hurt.

It wasn't their cabin, it was Pastor Jim's. Jim never really strayed far from the church anymore, though ,and he'd offered to let the Winchesters use it when they needed someplace safe to stay. It was rustic, protected from evil, and had a warm feeling about it.

When the family was at Jim's cabin, it seemed like they were actually a family again. They were together, and happy, and safe. That was the main reason Dean liked it, because they could be a real family when they were there.

This time wasn't any different. John had been hurt while working a job, and had driven his boys the short distance to the old wooden home in record time. He said it hadn't been as bad as it could have, but Dean saw the blood. He knew that if daddy didn't slow down on his quest for vengeance, he might end up dying.

Of course, he never said anything about it. Bad kids asked too many questions, and good kids knew their places. Dean wanted to be a good kid, so he kept his mouth shut until he was spoken to.

It hadn't taken John long to recover after the black dog had nearly torn his arm off. In fact, they hadn't even been there a week before the hunter was out of bed and walking around. He'd taken one look at the little pond that sat behind the house and decided it was time he taught his boys to swim.

Dean had known he could learn fast, earn that 'extra cookie' of gratitude and parental pride he'd sought ever since the fire. After all, Sammy could barely talk, let alone hold his head above the waves for more than a few seconds.

But learning to swim had been harder than he'd thought, and although Sammy _was_ worse at it, Dean wasn't much better. He'd seen the way his dad had looked at him when he'd started to sink and panicked. He'd seen the disdain and disappointment.

It hadn't taken the seven-year-old long to figure out what he had to do to make his dad proud of him. He snuck out of the house every night after dark to practice swimming in the shallows. It had taken time and effort, and he'd gotten into the nasty habit of falling asleep in the middle of dad's lessons about myths and legends, but, eventually, Dean had gotten better.

It hadn't taken dad too long to see the improvement his oldest son was making. He'd given the boy a nod and informed him that he'd finally mastered the basics, and that lessons would be held off for a while so Sammy could get the attention he needed.

So, Dean stared out the window at the pond, his arms elbow-deep in sudsy water as he cleaned up the breakfast dishes. Outside, dad and Sammy splashed around in the water as the younger boy struggled to keep his head up. Sam dunked his father, and dad came up laughing, spitting water like a fountain.

Dean scrubbed a little harder at the plate in his hands, bitter jealousy burning within his little body, warmth rising behind his eyes, threatening to break out.

But he didn't cry. Daddy had told him that soldiers don't cry, and Dean was a soldier now.

He didn't really want to be a soldier, though. He wanted his daddy to love him again, to tell him he'd done something right, instead of just giving him a weird look and barking another order. Most of all, though, Dean didn't want to be alone in the kitchen. He wanted to be with his family out in the pond, laughing and playing and having fun.

He wanted his dad to be proud of him. He wanted to be a good soldier. So he decided to keep his secret wants to himself and clean the dishes.

Maybe if he did a good enough job of scrubbing eggs from the plates, daddy would be proud.

1 Year Later

Glassy eyes watched his every move as eight-year-old fingers pulled needle and thread through skin. The brown eyes never left Dean's work, even after the boy had finished stitching the wound.

"Good?" Dean asked, searching his father's face for signs of approval.

"Wrap it up," the older man instructed, his voice flat, eyes uncaring.

"Yes, sir," Dean nodded. He turned to his little brother, who'd been sitting in the doorway since they'd arrived at the cabin and John had ordered his oldest son to practice his first aid. "Go get some water, Sammy," he instructed, "dad needs something to drink."

Sam nodded and ran to the kitchen as his brother grabbed the gauze Jim kept under the sink in the old cabin's single bathroom. He began wrapping it around his father's bruised, bloody, and sewn-up arm, just the way he'd been taught.

John laid his head back on the pillow and grimaced. "Damned wendigo," he sighed, "thing nearly ripped my hand off."

"Yeah, it did," Dean agreed softly, gazing around the room as he finished dressing the wound. He was finally starting to realize that going to the cabin wasn't a good thing, even if it meant they were all together. They only went when dad was hurt bad.

The older man nodded slowly. "I got lucky." He smiled. "Hey, remember last year? When I taught you boys to swim?"

"Yeah."

"Your brother's so good at it now. I never thought he'd get the hang of it."

Dean sighed, packing up the first aid kit. He'd been a little surprised that Sammy had gotten the hang of it, too, given all the time he'd wasted splashing and dunking their father.

Soft footsteps echoed down the hall and Sam entered the room, clutching a glass of water in his little hands.

"'Bout time, kiddo," Dean grinned as his brother handed the cup to their father. The older boy started toward the door, first aid kit in hand. That was when he heard it.

"Good boy, Sammy."

2 Years Later

Dean hated them. He hated them all.

He also wanted to be them.

"Dean," Sammy whined, pulling on his brother's wrist as they crossed the street, heading toward their new school, "how come dad doesn't drop us off or pick us up?"

The older boy shrugged, gazing enviously at the van parked in front of the big brick building as a young woman sent her gaggle of kids in with a kiss and a declaration of love. "You've got me. What's the matter, not good enough for you?"

Sammy shook his head. "No. You're good enough for me. It's just…. Other kids' parents drop them off."

"Yeah, well, other kids' parents don't save people like dad does."

"Jimmy's dad's a firefighter. He saves lives _and_ he drops Jimmy off at school."

"Really? You know, our dad could kick Jimmy's dad's ass."

Sam sighed and looked down at his feet. "Daddy doesn't love us."

Dean stopped in his tracks, dropping onto his knees in front of the school and placing both hands on his little brother's shoulders. "Don't say that. Dad loves you. He loves you more than you'll ever know."

Sammy cocked his head to one side in a perfect imitation of a confused puppy. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You only said daddy loves me. Doesn't he love you?"

Dean dropped his gaze as the shrill ringing of the school bell filled the parking lot. "Go to class, kiddo," he said quietly, "I'll be waiting right here for you at three."

He turned Sam around and gave him a little shove toward the school. The younger boy didn't need to know the answer to his question, never had to find out.

Dad liked Sam better. He'd proven it a couple of years before, when he'd gotten home early from a hunt and decided to surprise his sons by picking them up from school. For some reason, though, he'd neglected to wait for Dean, who'd been trying to explain another failing grade to his math teacher.

18 Years Later

Sam stared at his feet as he leaned up against the school's brick wall. Inside the building, he could hear the final bell ringing, the sound of happy children rushing out to meet their parents. He was starting to get used to it.

He'd been able to come up with rent for the month, thanks to some help from Missouri, and was fairly close to finding a steady job. He'd thought about moving to a better town, but Dean seemed to like it here. The kid had made friends. Sam couldn't remember him ever having friends.

A sea of children burst through the door and Sam straightened up, even though he would be pretty hard to miss. Dean came running up to him, smiling widely and clutching a piece of paper in one small hand.

"How was school?" Sammy asked, taking the boy's free hand and leading him off to the Impala.

"I passed another test," Dean smiled, shoving the paper up toward his brother.

Sam shook his head. "Tests in kindergarten. What'll they come up with next?"

"We got a new janitor, too," Dean said slowly, happiness fading from his face as his brother unlocked the car doors.

"Oh, really? Is he nice?"

Dean slid into the car and turned wide, scared eyes on his brother. In that single moment he seemed to age well past childhood. "It's dad," he whispered, his voice shaking a bit, "it's dad."

"You're positive?" Sam asked again, shoving his things haphazardly into a duffle bag.

"Dude, I know my own father," Dean shot back, picking through the few belongings he had, choosing which to keep and which to leave behind.

"Ok, so he found us. Are you sure he won't follow us?"

"I told you," Dean explained, tossing his backpack onto the floor beside his brother's things, "the cabin's up in rural Montana. We drive through the night, ditch the Impala in some motel parking lot, and snatch another car to take us the rest of the way. I'm pretty sure dad doesn't even remember the place."

Sam spun on his heels to face the little boy that hadn't been a little boy since 3:00. "You're kidding, right? You wanna ditch your car?"

Dean shrugged. "Not like I can drive it."

"But-"

"Look, just finish packing up and let's hit the road. It won't take him long to find us." The boy headed into the kitchen to raid the fridge, packing up some food for the trip, as Sam stared after him.

The older man turned back to his bag. "Man, dad," he whispered, "he's really scared of you, isn't he?"

The blue car pulled up outside the rustic cabin three days later. It had been three days of running, three days of looking over their shoulders, three days of Sam thinking that he heard choked sobs coming from his brother's bed late into the night.

But they'd made it. They were finally here. Sammy noticed the way Dean's eyes lit up when he saw the place, saw the spark of recognition and the small, almost hidden smile.

"You know," he said as he tossed bags out of the trunk of the stolen car and onto the dusty ground, "I don't remember this place. We come here often?"

Dean nodded, looking over the house, a sad smile on his young face. "We came here a lot when we were younger. It was Jim's, and he let us use it when dad got hurt. It's protected and stuff, blessed, you know."

Sam shouldered a bag and led his brother up to the front porch. "Lots of memories?"

"Dad taught us to swim here. He taught me first aid here. We spent a lot of time together here."

"And you think he doesn't remember it?"

Dean shrugged, flipping up the welcome mat and fishing out the key from beneath it. "He just doesn't seem the type."

The older man nodded and followed the boy into the old house, gazing around the small entry as a flood of memories came back to him. He could remember his father spending hours in the lake with him, teaching him to tread water and backstroke while Dean sat inside the cabin brushing up on his Latin or making dinner. He could remember watching his brother's first real attempt at first aid, could remember the way John hadn't given any feedback, just kid of shrugged him off.

Dean dropped his bag and spun around, little feet kicking up dust. "Hey," he said excitedly, that childlike innocence back in his eyes for the first time since he'd seen the school's new janitor, "you wanna go swimming with me?"

Sam couldn't help but smile as he dropped his own bags and nodded in reply. "Sure thing, kiddo. Let me get my suit."

It didn't take long for both brothers to get dressed and head out the back door toward the pond. Neither of them noticed the beat-up old truck pull into the driveway in front of the cabin.


	3. Confessions

Ok, so I just realized that I forgot to put page breaks in the last two chapters. If the story seemed to jump around a bit, that would be why. Sorry.

On a brighter note, I shoved my homework aside and finally wrote chapter 3. Just one more to go now, I think. Kinda been winging it with this story...

Hmm... just in case page breaks weren't the only thing I forgot in ch. 1: I don't own Supernatural or its characters. They belong to cool people._

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_

_3_

_Confessions_

In every man's life there is a single event that brings his world crashing down around him, stabbing him with splinters of hope and shards of broken dreams. For Dean, that event had finally come.

He stood on the street corner, staring sadly down the road, heart pounding each time headlights flashed in the distance. Every flicker of electricity reflecting off the numerous raindrops could be the bus that was coming to rip his family apart at the seams.

From the bench beside him, he heard Sam sigh. Dean glanced over at his little brother, knowing that he'd probably never see the younger man again.

"Just one last chance, Sammy," he pleaded quietly, secretly thanking whatever higher power there might be that the pouring rain was hiding the few tears that had managed to slip past his concrete defenses.

Sam just stared straight ahead, out at the road, oblivious to the cold rain and the pitiful break in his brother's voice. "I have to do this, Dean," he said flatly, "I need to have my own life, and dad needs to see that."

"But-"

"Look, I'll call, all right? I'll call and I'll write and nothing's going to change."

"You don't get it," Dean attempted as headlights glared and the bus came clearly into view, "dad-"

"Needs to realize that he can't control me," Sam said, standing up and grabbing his bags, "I've gotta do this, man."

"Yeah, but, Sammy, I-"

"It's not you. It's got _nothing_ to do with you. It's him. You wouldn't understand. He doesn't do this crap to you. I just have to get away for a while."

The bus lumbered to a stop and the doors flew open. Sam started up the steps to safe and dry and normal, leaving his brother standing alone in the rain.

"Wait," Dean begged, "I understand, I do. Dad-"

"Bye, Dean." The doors slid shut and the bus pulled sluggishly away as Dean watched, mouth hanging open.

That was it. The only person he'd ever been good enough for had abandoned him, left him alone with a father that didn't want him and would undoubtedly leave without his favorite son there to keep him around.

Dean sighed and sank onto the wet bench. It was only a matter of time before his father left him. He didn't want to be alone.

For the first time since dropping out of school, the hunter found himself wishing he'd stuck with it. The homework, the teachers, the tests, it would all be worth it if only he could follow Sammy. He might have been able to get into a college, go with his brother. For the first time in his life, Dean found himself wondering what it would be like without dad, if it was just him and his brother, together. Would it be different? Would he really feel like more of a person? Or would Sammy finally come around to dad's way of thinking?

4 Years Later

"You, and me, and dad. I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family." He wanted so badly to drop his eyes, to look away, to take back the words that had just left his mouth because _this was it_. The moment of truth. He'd spent half a year on the road with Sam now, searching for their dad, and it had been fun. He wanted it to stay fun.

But Sam was different, and Dean wasn't sure if he was still good enough for the younger man. Sammy didn't want a big brother to chase the monsters away. He wanted his girlfriend, and revenge, and their dad, and the taste of that demonic freak's blood.

Sammy wasn't Sammy anymore. He was Sam. And he wanted to leave again.

"We never stopped being a family, Dean," the younger man said softly, as if talking to a small child, "but we can never be like that again."

"We could be," Dean attempted, letting down the barriers he'd worked so hard since childhood to construct, hoping that, even if Sam _didn't_ think he was good enough anymore, the younger man would at least take pity on the broken shell of a human that now stood before him. Just a little sympathy, a little understanding.

"I don't want us to be."

For the second time in his life, Dean's world shattered around him. This time, though, he felt no need to pick up the pieces and try to move on. He still wasn't good enough. Not for dad. Not even for Sam.

He was some kind of freak, and everyone he loved had abandoned him.

2 Years Later

_This is it,_ Dean thought bitterly as he and Sam prepared for the witch hunt that lay ahead of them, _he's actually gonna go. He says he's gonna stay gone. Third time's a charm, I guess._

"We'll finish this one together," Sam said, shoving weapons and clothing into duffle bag, "and then I'm gone."

"Dad's really close," Dean attempted, hoping that Sam would believe the lie, "he's almost got it."

"Call me when he finds it," Sammy instructed, "and I'll come. Until then, I'll be back at school."

"Sam-"

"You can't change my mind, Dean. I'm tired of this. This life, this job. Everything."

The older man knew. He could translate. Sam was tired of hunting, tired of traveling, tired of being kept outside their father's loop. He was tired of Dean. It was Dean's fault that dad didn't stick around, Dean's fault that Sam was miserable. He knew the truth now. He'd never really been good enough for either of them.

"One last hunt, though?"

Sam nodded. "Then I'm gone."

"Keep in touch."

o0o0o0o0o

The world began to fade to black as Dean's body connected with the wall. He could hear the witch cackling, pleased with herself for taking down one of the hunters that had tracked her to her warehouse hide-away and attacked her.

Dean struggled up into a sitting position and began scanning the building for the witch as softly whispered chanting reached his ears. He could see Sammy hunkering down behind some crates, silently reloading his gun, waiting for the perfect moment to attack. He could see the witch trying to stay out of sight as she slunk forward, still spinning her spell.

That was when he realized it, when Dean knew that there wasn't any time left for words. There was only action. One quick dash might be the only thing that could save Sam's life.

He launched himself up off the floor and ran towards his brother, drawing his own gun and aiming as he sprinted toward the younger man. He reached Sam just as the witch was finishing up, pushed him out of the way, and fired at the monster just as it fired at him.

The shot rang out as Sam hit the floor and Dean was sent sailing back through the room and into a stack of empty wooden crates. The witch's death-wail filled the warehouse as the bullet sailed through her and Dean's already dreary world faded to black.

o0o0o0o0o

Sammy pushed himself up off the ground and looked around him. The witch lay dead on the floor a few feet away, blood pooling slowly under her body. In a back corner of the room a pile of splintered wood moved slowly up and down, as if something under it was breathing.

"Dean," Sam breathed, getting to his feet and staggering toward the wood, wondering how long it had been since Dean had pushed him from the line of fire and killed the witch.

He dropped to his knees and began carefully sifting through the debris. He found a few small droplets of blood and dug a little deeper through the wood. He found a shoe, then a sock, then Dean's empty pants leg.

"Oh, no," he muttered hurriedly, throwing rubble from the pile of clothes, "please, no. She didn't hit you. She didn't hit you. Come on, man, this isn't funny."

Wood skittered across the concrete floor behind him as he dug through the splinters. After what seemed an eternity, Sam finally found the rest of his brother's outfit. He could se a dark patch of blood standing out against the green of his brother's shirt. Underneath the clothing, a small lump moved slowly up and down, inhaling and exhaling.

Slowly, Sam leaned forward and pulled down on the shirt's neck until he found his brother. What he saw nearly stopped his heart. "No," he whispered, eyes darting quickly over the little boy that lay amidst the ruins of the crates. The kid was no older than five, with a mess of shaggy blond hair and a smear of blood running across his face.

Breathing hard, Sammy scooped up his brother in his arms and stood. The witch was dead, his father was MIA, and Dean had been cursed into a little boy. The young hunter's heart sank as he realized just what that meant. He couldn't leave. Not now.

In his arms, the little boy stirred, curling up against Sam's body and moaning. "Daddy?"

Sam sighed and clutched the kid closer to his chest. No, he couldn't leave yet.

2 Months Later

He'd barely seen the kid all day. As soon as they'd walked back into the cabin, Dean had ducked behind his legs and stayed there. Sam couldn't blame him. Hell, there were times _he'd_ wanted to hide from John, too.

"Get some sleep, all right?" he said softly, patting the boy's arm as the kid snuggled farther under the covers.

"You'll be here when I wake up?"

Sam looked into Dean's eyes, the only sure-fire way to figure out who he was talking to, his brother or the little boy he'd become. The man he'd grown up with had a certain haunted look in his eyes, while the kid he deserved to be able to be possessed an innocence and sparkle Sam had never known his brother to have.

The eyes usually had it, and this time wasn't any different. Dean's eyes were hard and scared, telling terrible tales of forgotten dreams and unintentional neglect. They didn't match the young body at all.

"Yeah," Sam smiled sadly as he realized who he was talking to and his stomach did a nervous flip, "yeah, I'll be here."

Dean nodded and sank farther under the covers, turning onto his side and curling up into a ball. Sam shot him another smile and stood up.

"It's tempting, though, isn't it?"

Sam spun around half-way to the door. "What?"

"You could leave tonight and never come back and I wouldn't be able to chase you down again. Not this time."

The now-older man nodded. "You're right. I could. But I won't. Don't worry about it, man. I'll still be here tomorrow. I promise."

"'Night, Sammy."

"Good night, Dean." He walked from the room, closing the door softly behind him.

"It's only 8."

Heaving a sigh, the hunter turned to face his father, who'd been standing beside the door, watching bedtime. "He gets tired," Sam explained, "he's only five."

"He's thirty," John shot back.

"Look, I don't know how you found us, or how you found out about Dean, but you obviously didn't get all the facts. He's five."

"He's five most of the time," his father said, smirking with satisfaction, "I went to your apartment. Just missed you. I saw the fridge, son, the report card."

Sammy grinned. "He's a smart kid."

"Of course he is. He's not a kid. You don't seem to be able to wrap your mind around that."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, grabbing his father's arm and moving him from the hallway to the family room.

"Making him settle down, forcing him to go back to school and act normal. How'd you do it? Did you threaten him?"

"Me? Wait, you're asking _me_ what _I_ did to him? I should be asking you that question. Dad, it was his idea to settle down. He's the one that wanted to go to school. Hell, he even asked me if he could…"

John's head snapped up, eyes suddenly alert, searching his son's face. "What? What did he ask you?"

"He asked me if he could stay with me. He asked me to tough it out as a dad. He made me promise not to get rid of him. He specifically asked me to keep you away from him. Dad, what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," the older man stated indignantly, "I taught him how to survive."

"You broke him. Dad, did you see the way he looked at you tonight, the way he hid? He's scared to death of you. Now just tell me what you did-"

"I told you already, if he's messed up it's not because of me. It's that spell he's under and your bad influence."

"Come on, dad, just fess up. What was it? Did you get drunk and beat him or something? You rape him an neglect to tell me? You try to drown him 'cause the little voices in your head told you to?"

"I raised him-"

"Like a soldier, with no friends, minimal love, and nothing to call his own but his family. Face it, dad, you ruined him."

"Are you saying this is all my fault?"

"I'm saying that it's your fault he's so messed up, yeah."

"So it's my fault he dropped his guard and got turned into a child, huh?"

"No, dad. That was my fault. I wasn't paying attention to the witch ,and Dean pushed me out of its line of fire. If it wasn't for him, I'd be the one with the 8 o'clock bedtime. He did exactly what you trained him to do. He protected Sammy."

John dropped his gaze. "He can't do a very good job of protecting you if he's only three feet tall, now, can he?"

"No. But I can protect him. I can protect him from you. If you did your homework then you know that this curse is more physical than mental. Your soldier's still in there, buried deep down, and he comes out sometimes to play. Most of the time, though, he's just a scared little kid who really likes to hang pictures on the fridge and go swimming. They have the same memories, but two different personalities. He wants to be that little kid, though."

"You don't know what he wants."

"I know he doesn't want you," Sam barked, feeling the same anger he'd always harbored toward his father rising up within him again, and he didn't try to push it down. "It isn't fair," he said through gritted teeth, "He deserves an actual childhood. He deserves to have someone care."

"Are you saying I didn't care?" John shouted, "is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"I'm saying that you might have done some irreparable damage that could have been avoided. I can fix it, though, dad, if you tell me what you did to him!"

"I already told you that I raised him right. My training just wore off."

"Is that why you're here? You want to take him and retrain him? You want to start from scratch and make him more of a soldier than he was before?"

"I just want to make sure this never happens again," John said calmly.

Sam jumped to his feet. "I can't believe you. You're so focused on having the perfect soldier that you can't even see what you've done! You're hopeless!" He turned away from the couch, storming toward the door. He needed air, needed to take a walk and try to think and calm down and figure out what he was going to do. His hand was on the doorknob when he stopped.

"Going somewhere?" John asked.

Sam slid his hand from the handle and turned to his father. "If I leave now, you two won't be here when I get back, will you?"

"I'm going to take my son."

A large smile split the younger hunter's face. "He's not your son anymore."

"What?"

"If you take him now, it'll be kidnapping, dad. He's not yours. He's mine. I adopted him. It became official and legal last month."

"Does Dean know you've done this?" The anger in John's voice was masked, but not well enough.

"No. I was going to tell him next month. It was going to be a Christmas present. He's mine now, and if you take him, I'll have the cops on your ass faster than you can say 'kidnapping.'"

John nodded. "You might want to get him a back-up gift, there, Sammy."

"Why's that?"

"He heard every word you just said."

Sam spun around to see Dean standing in the doorway to the bedroom, a large smile plastered on his young face. "You serious, Sammy? You really-?"

"Yeah, kiddo. It's official. You do wanna stay with me, right?"

The boy ran from the doorway and into his new father's arms. "Are you kidding me? Of course I'm gonna stay!"

"Dean!" Both brothers stiffened at the harsh sound of their father's voice.

"Yes, sir?" Dean squeaked, his voice incredibly small.

"Why don't you want to come with me?"

Dean shrugged, gulping back his response.

"Come on, now, son," John said softly, kneeling on the cabin's hardwood floor, "you can tell me. I won't be mad."

Dean shook his head, long hair flopping back and forth over his face. "You're lying. You always get mad. No matter what I do, you always get mad."

"Not this time, kiddo. Now, come on, you can tell dad."

The boy shook his head again. "No. You'll yell at me. You always yell at me."

"Not this time," John hissed.

Dean was adamant, though. "No."

"Dammit, Dean, tell me, or so help me-"

"What?" Dean yelled, his voice harsh and sharp, and somehow older than it had been a few seconds before, "what'll you do, dad? You gonna tell me to focus more on my schoolwork, or take better care of Sammy, or aim higher, or shoot faster, or just be better? I never was good enough for you, no matter what I did. I tried harder than you'll ever know and it still wasn't good enough. I'm sick of it. I'm not putting up with it anymore."

John cocked his head to the side, anger draining from his face. "All right," he said calmly, his voice quiet, "you want to stay with your brother? Fine. Just don't come crying to me when he ditches you to go back to that school of his, you hear me, because I won't take you back."

"He won't-"

"He already left you once. He's tried to leave more than that, too. He tried to leave tonight. It's only a matter of time."

Dean shook his head again, a little uncertainly this time, though. "He won't leave. He promised."

"Promises don't mean shit, kid," John muttered, "nothing but guilt is keeping him here."

Sam narrowed his eyes, glaring daggers at his father. "I think you should leave now," he said quietly, bending down and picking up his brother, who wrapped small arms around his neck and squeezed tight, "and don't come back."

John nodded. "All right. I know when I'm not wanted. I just wish your brother did, too. If he would realize you only want to make up for getting him stuck like this-"

"Now, dad," Dean hissed, burying his head in his brother's shoulder.

"Fine. Have a fun life, kid." He walked out of the cabin, letting the door slam behind him, climbed into his truck, buried his head in his hands, and cried. Everything John had ever done had been wrong, and he'd finally been able to see it.


	4. Aftermath

Final chapter, I swear! All right, this is it. Hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

Thanks again for all the awesome reviews (I really never expected this many for a story like this), as always, they kept me writing!_

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_4_

_Aftermath_

Sam stayed up all night, sitting in the bedroom and staring blankly at the wall. Every once in a while he thought he heard the distant rumble of an engine, thought he saw headlights flashing by outside, and he even could have sworn that he'd heard the sound of someone trying to pick the lock on the back door. It was times like these that he tensed up, ready and eager to protect the little boy sleeping soundly in the room's single bed from whatever monstrous human might try to harm him again.

Other than that slight movement, the simple tensing of muscles as he prepared to attack, he never moved. Never even blinked. He just kept watch and thought. He thought about the day, about the days ahead, about what his life would be like, and what Dean's life _could_ be. How much of a difference could he really make? How different would Dean really be in the end?

Sam stiffened in the chair, realizing for the first time what the day's events could really mean. His brother was going to leave him, fall back into his own mind and disappear completely, leaving Sam with only memories and a poor substitute that would someday grow up and leave him all alone.

Suddenly, he knew how Dean must have felt when that bus to Stanford had finally pulled up. "Looks like it's your turn to stand alone in the rain, Sammy-boy," he whispered into the darkness.

"You kidding me?" a small voice called out, scaring Sam so much that he jumped, suddenly alert, "you can't get rid of me that easy."

Dean slid out of the bed and padded across the room to his brother's chair. "What are you talking about?" Sammy asked nervously

Smiling, the boy climbed up onto his brother's lap and snuggled in close. "I'm not gonna leave you. Not for anything You're gonna need me just as much as I'm gonna need you, man, because parenthood ain't a cakewalk. This isn't gonna be easy, but you won't have to do it alone."

_Not like you did_, Sam thought, nodding as he wrapped his long arms around his new son and Dean snuggled up just a little bit closer. "Don't worry so much about me," he grinned as his brother tried to turn a tired yawn into a sigh, "grown-ups can take care of themselves."

"That's what you think," Dean muttered, letting his eyes slide shut as he rested his small head against his brother's chest and drifted off to the sound of Sam's heartbeat. For the first time since the fire that had taken his mother so many years before, he felt safe, protected, loved, and good enough.

18 Years Later

Dean sighed and shook his head as he crossed off another poorly scribbled answer. If things didn't turn around he'd have to schedule a conference, and he hated talking to these people. They always believed that their kid could do no wrong.

A small smile worked its way onto his face as his eyes slid from the paper he was checking to the picture that he kept at his desk. A man and his teenage son standing in a driveway, posing in front of a jet-black beauty of a car. A sixteenth birthday present that had topped the rest.

Not all parents were bad, and some kids actually deserved to be thought of as the best.

The door to the room creaked open, but Dean didn't look up, just went back to his paper. "Mr. Smith," he said as the door slid shut and the person that had entered the room coughed to announce his presence, "I'll be with you in a minute. Just need to finish up here."

The man standing by the door sighed. "A teacher, huh?"

Dean's head snapped up, the papers he was grading all but forgotten, his heart pounding hard in his chest. "D-dad?"

John Winchester nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets and crossing the room to the teacher's desk. "I saw the car outside. You went back to get it?"

"Sam did. Eventually. What do you want?"

The older man (and he was so much older than Dean remembered him) smiled sadly. "I just wanted to see what you made of yourself. Wanted to see what being good enough could get you. So, tell me, Dean, how's the life?"

Dean sighed, leaning back in his chair and gazing around the classroom, at the empty desks, the pictures that lined the walls, the cubbies that held supplies, and smiled. "It's great, sir."

"You mind elaborating?"

"I wouldn't want to waste your time. You've got people to see, demons to hunt. I'm surprised you even came back at all."

"I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"Sam's fine. A little grey around the edges, but fine. He went back to school, got himself a decent job, and we settled down here. He's good. That's what you really wanted to know, right? How Sam is?"

John shuffled his feet, glancing around the room, noticing the number of pictures hanging on the wall, all addressed to the teacher that now sat in front of him. "What about you?"

Dean smirked. "Never did get that full-ride to Stanford your little genius managed, but I got by. Graduated, at least. Got a job here, nice home with my dad, and a class of adoring first-graders that couldn't possibly love me more. What else could a guy want?"

"Did you miss me?"

"Not a bit."

The older man nodded, gazing down at his feet. "I need your help."

"I'm not going hunting with you."

"Not that," John muttered, swallowing his pride, "son, I'm sick. I need a transplant, and-"

"You want me to donate. Sammy isn't the right blood type, but I am, and you need me to donate. What do you want from me this time, dad? You need a lung, my liver, or a kidney? Maybe my heart, huh? You want that? It'll match perfectly with the self-esteem and confidence and self-respect you've already taken."

"What happened to you?"

"I woke up as a little kid, but I didn't get left alone. I got pancakes for breakfast every morning. I got a car I never thought I'd see again for my sixteenth birthday. My father came to my graduation ceremony. He paid for me to go to college and follow a dream. He supported me. He stayed with me, no matter what. He _loved_ me, sir. I gave up everything I had to keep him safe, and he returned the favor. I gave everything I had to make you love me, and you kept trying to take. You dropped off the face of the earth for eighteen years and only came back to ask me if I'd give you something else. That's what happened, dad. I finally got what I wanted. I got a family."

John nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Where's my son?"

"I'm right here, dad," he smirked, "I never left. I held on, and I stuck it out. It wasn't hard to control that kid. Actually, it got easier as he grew up. I found a happy medium, kept the balance between kid and adult. Nowadays, I can't even tell the difference. It's like I'm one person again."

"A better person than you were before?"

"What do you think?"

"I think a good person would help his dying father, that's what I think."

Dean just smiled. "I never said I wouldn't help you. I just thought I should warn you that whatever you need from me, won't ever be good enough for you."

**END**

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Well, that's it. Any final thoughts?

Thanks again for the support!


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